


Like a False Mirror

by ladyblahblah



Series: Through the Looking Glass [3]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mirror Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyblahblah/pseuds/ladyblahblah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of a forced bonding is something Kirk hasn't truly considered.  He'll have to do so now.  Sequel to <a href="http://ladyblahblah.livejournal.com/16125.html">Though This Be Madness, Yet There is Method In't</a> and second in the Through the Looking Glass series.  A love story, of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A direct sequel, taking place approximately three days after the events of _Though This Be Madness . . ._   If you haven't read that story first, I can't vouch for how much sense this will make.  No idea how many parts this will end up being, all told; I can count at least four in my head, so probably somewhere above that.

**Title:** Like a False Mirror  
 **Author:** [](http://ladyblahblah.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladyblahblah**](http://ladyblahblah.livejournal.com/)    
 **Fandom:** Star Trek Reboot  
 **Pairing:** Spock/Kirk  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.  Given what I've produced here, that's probably for the best.  
 **Warnings:** **MIRRORVERSE.**   All that that implies.  Nothing too bad for this chapter, but be forewarned.  
 **Summary:** The aftermath of a forced bonding is something Kirk hasn't truly considered.  He'll have to do so now.  Sequel to [Though This Be Madness, Yet There is Method In't](http://ladyblahblah.livejournal.com/16125.html).  A love story, of sorts.  
 **Author's Note:** A direct sequel, taking place approximately three days after the events of _Though This Be Madness . . ._   If you haven't read that story first, I can't vouch for how much sense this will make.  No idea how many parts this will end up being, all told; I can count at least four in my head, so probably somewhere above that.

 

 

 

_  
_ _“The human understanding is like a false mirror, which, receiving rays irregularly, distorts and discolors the nature of things by mingling its own nature with it.”  --Francis Bacon, Sr._

 

He has to get Bones to patch him up, which is something he hadn’t anticipated.  If he had, it might have swayed his decision the other way.  It’s not that he doesn’t feel safe with the doctor; quite the opposite.  For all his sadism Bones is deadly serious about his oath of loyalty, and there’s no safer place than his table exam table for an injured crewmember. 

Kirk simply doesn’t like Bones to see him weak, and especially doesn’t like the feeling that he owes the doctor anything.  But right now, he mainly just doesn’t want anyone else seeing the marks that Spock put on him.  They feel . . . private.  If it hadn’t been for the blood when Kirk had used the head, he wouldn’t have gone to Sickbay at all.

“Jesus, Jim.”  He looks over to see Bones watching him strip.  His eyes are more curious than concerned, which is unsurprising given that Jim had unquestioningly brought this on himself.  He shakes his head.  “He must’ve been pissed as hell at you when it was over.”

“Over, hell,” Kirk snorts.  “He was pissed as hell the whole time, and he let me feel it.”  He pauses in the act of pulling off his pants, considering.  “Or maybe that’s just how this whole mating drive thing works.  Or maybe it’s just Vulcans, how the hell do I know?”

Bones snorts as he pulls out the dermal regenerator.  “Well, I’m assuming that since the ship still has a full command team your little scheme must have worked?”

Kirk grins through a wince as the abraded skin on his knees starts to knit back together.  “It did.”  His fingers reach up almost of their own volition, brushing across his temple.  “I can feel him,” he says quietly.  “In my mind, like background static.  And don’t you _dare_ give me that look, you fucking sadist.”

“What look?”

“That ‘I want to cut your head open and poke around to see how it works’ look.  I catch it on your face again and we’ll be seeing how good the CMO is at treating patients when his eyes have been removed.”

“Always gotta go for the dramatics,” Bones grumbles, but makes a noticeable effort to school his features.  After a moment he chuckles.  “Gotta tell you, I never thought I’d see the day when Jim Kirk settled down,” he says, and Kirk raises his eyebrows.

“Don’t know that I’d phrase it quite like that.  Nothing’s really changed; not on my end, at least.”

Bones is looking at him like he’s a brain dead backbirth who has somehow managed to be advanced to Captain.  “Jim, you’re bonded to a _Vulcan_.  In the five minutes you spent concocting this plan, did you even once stop to think about what that would mean?”

Kirk rolls his eyes and hops down from the table the second the worst of the damage—at least, what he’s willing to let Bones see—is patched.  “It’s an arranged marriage, Doctor.  It was practical, but there are hardly any warm and fuzzy feelings attached.”

“I see.”  Bones leans a hip against the bed while Kirk dresses, his sharp clinical gaze missing nothing.  “And what did Spock have to say about this little _arrangement_?”

“He hasn’t _said_ anything; he was gone when I woke up this morning.  Probably in his lab.”  Kirk pulls his shirt on and reaches for his sash.  “And that’s the end of this discussion.  If I need your medical expertise I’ll call for you; anything else is none of your business.”

Bones holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender.  “Yes, sir,” he says, dutifully, but the expression on his face is very nearly gleeful.  It’s another look of his that Kirk knows well—it’s the way he looks whenever he’s anticipating thoroughly enjoying himself.

Given the doctor’s proclivities, the comparison isn’t a comforting one.

Kirk pushes it out of his mind as he goes about his duties.  He hasn’t allowed McCoy to put him on medical leave.  Spock, with his Vulcan mysticism, can get away with disappearing for undefined health reasons, but Kirk can’t afford the sign of weakness.  He’s a bit concerned, however, that he won’t be able to make it through his Bridge shift without arousing suspicion.  Spock hadn’t held back at all, and even the thought of sitting is acutely painful. 

To his surprise, though he’s constantly aware of it he manages to push his pain to the back of his mind.  It becomes a minor nuisance, like a persistent hunger pang towards the end of a shift, but nothing more.  He’s grateful for the reprieve, but he makes a mental note to investigate the cause of it once his shift ends.  He has a gut feeling that it has to do with Spock poking around in his head before.  If he’s right, it would be stupidly dangerous to let it stand.

He’s anticipating having to order Spock in for a chat; it surprises him, then, when the Vulcan enters his Ready Room in the middle of Kirk’s daily battle with the bureaucratic paperwork that comes with command of a starship.  Spock stands stiffly at attention while Kirk looks over a final report.  He doesn’t have to make his First Officer wait—the information on the PADD is far from vital—but it pleases him to feel the rising irritation behind that ruthlessly placid exterior.  Finally Kirk sighs, tosses PADD and stylus onto the desk, and looks up.

His gaze slides down the lines of Spock’s arms to where they disappear behind his back.  Kirk wonders idly if Spock is wearing his gloves again, the thin black leather ones that keep him from accidentally making contact with any of the lesser minds on the ship.  He had had them removed in his quarters, Kirk remembers; his bare fingers had been blisteringly hot.

“All right,” he says with an expansive gesture.  “Let’s have it.”

“Explain,” Spock demands in a smooth, clipped voice.

Kirk doesn’t know where the answer comes from; it’s there on his tongue before he knows it’s in his head.  “Specify,” he says, and smirks when the corners of Spock’s mouth tighten almost imperceptibly.

“Your assault on me was well-planned,” he says, his posture as ramrod-straight as ever.  “I wish to ascertain the purpose behind it.”

“Why, don’t you know, Spock?” Kirk purrs.  “I’ve been madly in love with you for months now; I’d have done anything to make you mine.”  Spock blinks at that, and Kirk’s eyes narrow.  “You were in my head,” he says, his voice hardening as he drops the sex-kitten act.  “Why don’t you tell me?”

He keeps thinking that it’s not possible for Spock’s spine to get any stiffer, and he’s continually proven wrong.  “When we melded I was not searching for specific information.  I did not comprehend anything beyond the sense of joining our minds together.”

“Felt good, didn’t it?” Kirk asks lowly, and watches Spock’s jaw clench.  “No point trying to hide it; I was there.  You liked that even better than having your cock in me.  Well, never let it be said I’ll keep a man wanting.”  He stands and rounds the desk, stopping in front of Spock with one hip propped on the edge.  “Would you like to try again?”  He tilts his head invitingly.  “Maybe you can get a bit more _specific information_ from me this time.”

Spock doesn’t move, but Kirk can hear the creak of leather as his hands tighten into fists behind his back.  Gloves are on, then.  “You do not comprehend what you are inviting.”

“No?  Ah, well,” Kirk shrugs.  “Your loss.”

“You have yet to answer my question, Captain.”

“So formal.  If I couldn’t feel you I’d really buy it, too, that you’re not imagining choking me to death right now.”

There is a difference, Kirk discovers then, between stiff and _frozen_.  Every muscle in Spock’s body seems to still at once; Kirk isn’t even sure that he’s still breathing, that his heart is still beating.  He seems to have turned suddenly and inexplicably to stone.

“What do you mean, precisely,” he asks at last, his voice not quite steady, “when you say that you can _feel_ me?”

“Oh c’mon, Spock, don’t try to pretend that you’re surprised.”  Kirk rolls his eyes.  “It’s a by-product of the bond, isn’t it?  Being able to feel you up here.”  He taps the side of his head and then, for no reason other than the sheer malicious glee of it, attempts to send a sort of mental _poke_ at the presence he can sense there.

Spock actually stumbles back, and Kirk laughs.  There’s emotion on that face now, though he can’t quite pick out what it is.  Surprise, definitely, and something not unlike horror, and something else that is utterly unfamiliar.  Spock is back under control a split second later, and all of a sudden the sense of him disappears from Kirk’s mind like a door has been slammed shut.

“I had been given to understand,” Spock says coldly, “that Humans are on the whole largely psi-null.”

“Never make assumptions.” 

Kirk can still feel the link, feel that it exists, but nothing’s coming through.  He gives it a mental nudge; the block holds fast.  It’s mildly annoying for some reason, no longer being able to feel the Vulcan lingering at the back of his thoughts.  He’ll have to see what he can do about that.

“There are Healers on New Vulcan who will be capable of breaking the bond,” Spock is saying when he tunes back in.  “If we proceed there immediately—”

“Hold on there,” Kirk interrupts.  “No one’s breaking anything.”

Spock’s eyes fix intensely on him.  “ _Explain_ ,” he demands again.

“Do you think I went to all the trouble of getting this bond formed in the first place just to get it broken at the first opportunity?” he demands.  And then, because there’s a part of him—however small—that almost wants to take pity on his First Officer, he sighs and finally relents.  “I had to be able to trust you, to know that you weren’t one of the people looking to move up the ranks by taking me out.”

“Had I interest in taking command,” Spock says tersely, “I would simply have killed you before Starfleet was so foolish as to give you your captaincy.”

Kirk has to laugh at that.  “Very logical,” he concedes before his expression hardens.  “But anyone can say they have no designs on a higher rank.  I had to _believe_ it.  You’re not going to move against me now, Spock.  And more than that,” he says, lifting his eyebrow in deliberate imitation, “you’re not going to let anyone else take me out, either.  Everyone says even a Klingon will back down from a Vulcan protecting his bondmate.  As of now, Spock you’re the best insurance policy I could ever have.”

“You bonded us . . . in order to secure your station?”

“You bonded us; I just facilitated the situation.  But yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”  Kirk stands and moves back behind the desk, ignoring the incredulity he had very nearly heard in Spock’s voice.  “Look, I have no interest in interfering with your social life, or whatever it is you have in place of one.  As far as I’m concerned nothing’s changed beyond me knowing that you’re not secretly plotting my assassination.  Well.  Not seriously, anyway.”

Something is simmering behind those implacable brown eyes, but all Spock says is, “You have no idea what you have done.  It would be in both our interests to have the bond dissolved as soon as possible.”

“Not gonna happen.”  Kirk’s face is hard, unyielding.  “And if you mention it again I’ll consider it insubordination.”  He retrieves his pad and resettles in his chair.  “Dismissed, Commander,” he says without bothering to look up.

Spock leaves without bothering to salute, and Kirk waits until the door closes behind him to let out the hiss of pain that he’s been holding in.  Being able to repress his pain had definitely been a by-product of the bond; the second Spock had shut him out it had all come flooding back.  Kirk winces as he shifts in his seat, but the discomfort isn’t enough to stop the laughter that bubbles up.

Spock will get over his wounded Vulcan pride eventually, and they can get back to building up the most formidable command team the Empire has ever seen.  With the two of them together, there’s no limit to how high they’ll be able to rise.  Suddenly nothing seems beyond Kirk’s reach, not even the Imperial throne itself.

All in all, he still wouldn’t do a damned thing differently.

 

[Part 2](http://ladyblahblah.livejournal.com/32842.html)  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a forced bonding is something Kirk hasn't truly considered.  He'll have to do so now.  Sequel to [Though This Be Madness, Yet There is Method In't](http://ladyblahblah.livejournal.com/16125.html).  A love story, of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, I just want to take a moment to say how much I love that pretty much all of your comments on the first part centered around your excitement that Kirk is completely screwed. XD  OH SO MUCH.  Now on to the fic!  Um . . . you guys do realize that this is pretty much just one big excuse for evil!porn, right?  Okay, good, just checking.

 

 

The ship is in orbit around Risa for a stretch of well-deserved shore leave.  They’ve spent the past week putting down a minor uprising on a little backwater colony planet, and while there are aspects to such chores that Kirk enjoys, the entire exercise has been more than a little tiring.  His entire crew is exhausted and on the verge of snapping under the pressure they’re all under.  The orders from Command have come at the perfect time: three whole days for rest and relaxation is exactly what they all need.  
  
In Kirk’s case, _rest and relaxation_ translates loosely into _getting fucking laid_.  
  
It’s been a month and a half since he and Spock bonded, and in all that time he hasn’t had any company in bed beyond his own right hand.  Not that there haven’t been opportunities.  Oh, there have been plenty.  But somehow something always seems to go wrong.  He’s been called into last-minute meetings at inopportune times; his touchy immune system has reacted badly to alien foods; attractive delegates have suddenly and inexplicably gone from blatant interest to equally undisguised avoidance.  
  
Kirk isn’t stupid.  He figured out pretty quickly that Spock is behind most, if not all of his romantic misfortunes.  But his First Officer has remained calm and unruffled whenever he’s confronted, and Kirk will be damned if he’ll respond to that cool stoicism by ranting the way he really wants to do.  There’s also the irritating fact that Spock has been very careful to avoid breaking any sort of regulation, meticulous in avoiding anything that could legitimately be classified as insubordination.  
  
Not that it would matter if he had.  The thought of sending Spock to the Agony Booth or of handing him over to Bones for discipline turns Kirk’s stomach.  In fact, he was disgusted to realize, two weeks in, that he actually has an active interest in Spock’s well being.  Though their bond is still blocked off, he’s developed almost a sixth sense about the Vulcan’s mental and physical state.  Most of the time it’s nothing more than a low-level awareness, a base line of Spock’s continued existence.  From time to time, however, there are peaks or valleys that leave him breathless with their intensity.  He knows when Spock’s feeling particularly murderous, and though he’s staying out of his social life as he said he would Kirk has discovered that he’s equally aware of it whenever Spock comes.  Thankfully that isn’t often, because even the echo of it is enough to leave Kirk’s legs weak for nearly an hour afterwards.  
  
So no, the thought of his bondmate in the Booth isn’t one that Kirk is terribly interested in exploring.  
  
He’s tempted now, though, despite how genuinely awful an idea it would be.  There had been a very promising young lieutenant transferred onto the ship a month ago.  Kirk had finally met her in the midst of their latest mission, and had been imagining her naked and under him in ten seconds flat.  There had been too much to do for the two of them to do anything beyond trading speculative looks, but he had been eagerly anticipating the chance to get to know her better.  
  
Except that she’d transferred off the ship with no warning at the last Starbase they had docked at, and it had been Spock’s signature at the bottom of the form.  
  
“He’s doing it on purpose,” Kirk snarls as he knocks back his whiskey.  “Keeping anyone else away from me.”  
  
“Of course he is,” McCoy snorts.  “What did you expect?  For the ball and chain to just stand by and let you fuck your way through the ship like you did the Academy?”  
  
“He thinks it’s _funny_.”  
  
“Green-blooded bastard doesn’t think _anything_ is funny,” McCoy counters, and Kirk raises his nearly-empty glass in a salute.  “Where is he, anyway?  Figured he’d be skulking in the shadows here, making sure you kept it in your pants.”  
  
“I put him on second rotation,” Kirk says with a smirk.  “He’s staying on the bridge like a good, conscientious Starfleet officer while his Captain finally gets rid of the distinct blue tinge that his balls have developed.”  
  
It had been his thought when he first beamed down to find a willing woman at one of the bars he and McCoy planned to hit, and there’s certainly no shortage of options.  But with the whiskey loosening his limbs with every pulse of his heart, even that seems like too much work.  Instead, he heads for one of the better brothels.  There will be time for flirtation and seduction later; what he needs now is release, pure and simple, and he’s had more than enough of waiting.  
  
The slaves are all gorgeous, which is only to be expected, and Kirk has a job of it trying to decide between them.  A few of the men catch his eye, but something makes him shy away from that option the way he never has before, something in his gut that feels uncomfortably like guilt.  It’s nothing he wants to investigate, though, so he ignores it and turns his attention to the women.  
  
He ends up with a pretty little Human blonde who barely comes up to his shoulders.  She’s just his type, and she tugs eagerly at his hand as she leads him into the ‘lift and down a plushly appointed hall to the room he’s reserved.  
  
“You seem so tense,” she purrs when the door has closed behind them, her fingers skimming along his shoulders to do something clever at the back of his neck.  Those fingers drift to stroke the hair at his temple, and Kirk feels a shiver shoot down his spine an instant before he grasps her wrist.  
  
“Don’t touch me there,” he says, his voice low in warning.  
  
“Where _should_ I touch you, then?” she asks, her smile just the tiniest bit wicked.  “You only have to tell me what you want and—”  
  
“Be quiet,” Kirk snaps.  “If I wanted to talk I wouldn’t have bought you.”  
  
He pulls her towards him and she goes willingly, moaning eagerly into his mouth.  The scraps of fabric she’s wearing are quickly shed, leaving lush curves bare beneath his questing hands.  And yes, he thinks, yes, this is what he’s been missing, and ignores the guilt-like feeling that builds again in his stomach when her fingers make short work of his trouser fastenings.  Her skin is as warm as his own; her hand feels small as it wraps around his cock, already hard and leaking.  
  
She pushes him onto the bed in a surprising burst of strength, and it sends lust shooting hot through his veins.  Then her head dips, pretty blue eyes locked on his as full pink lips wrap around him.  Kirk groans when she takes him deep, eyes locked on the way her lips are stretched, lipstick smeared in a way that makes her look like exactly what she is.  If he keeps watching he’s not going to last long, and as appealing as the thought of immediate release may be, he wants to simply _feel_ for a while.  He lets his head fall back against the pillows, eyes sliding shut.  
  
The door opens so suddenly that he’s barely heard it before that mouth is being yanked rudely and roughly away.  His eyes fly open in shock to see Spock standing at the foot of the bed, hauling the girl up by a hand fisted in her hair.  His other hand grasps her beneath the chin, and her eyes go wide and terrified for a split second before he twists, and her neck breaks with an audible _snap_.  
  
Spock releases the body with a contemptuous flick of his wrists.  The girl’s lifeless body falls onto the mattress next to Kirk, and there is nothing accusing in her gaze as she stares back at him.  There’s nothing there at all but emptiness and the fading traces of fear.  Kirk glares at her for a moment, as though this entire situation had been her fault, and jumps to his feet.  Spock’s eyes sweep over him dismissively as Kirk refastens his trousers; then the Vulcan has moved to the communicator set in the wall and a smooth voice echoes through the room.  
  
“How may we be of service?”  
  
“We require disposal of a body,” Spock answers tersely, and there’s the briefest of pauses before the voice answers.  
  
“Porters are on their way to your room, sir.  Please leave the door open to provide access.  Will you require a replacement companion?”  
  
“Negative.”  Spock doesn’t even bother to look at Kirk before he answers.  He cuts off communication and opens the door, only then turning back to spare a glance at his silently fuming captain.  “I will see you upon your return to the _Enterprise_ , sir,” he says, and is halfway out the door before Kirk recovers his voice.  
  
“ _Hold it right there_.”  Spock stops at the order, turns.  “Get your ass in here.  _Now_.”  
  
“I am technically still on duty,” Spock reminds him, but does as he’s told.  He stops several feet away from Kirk, falling into that damnable parade rest he’s so fond of.  “Is there a matter in which I can assist you, Captain?”  
  
“What the _fucking hell_ , Spock?”  Kirk is livid, the passion that had built up under the girl’s skilled hands and mouth transforming to fury without losing any of its force.  He paces in tight circles and glares at his First Officer.  “I was enjoying her.”  
  
That infuriating eyebrow raises, and in that moment Kirk wants nothing so much as to slice the damned thing off.  “I am aware,” is the placid reply.  
  
It’s all he can do to keep his hands from fisting in his hair in frustration.  “I’ve had just about enough of this.”  He barely spares a glance for the porters who have come in to collect the body.  “I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing, cockblocking me like that.  Like you’ve _been doing_ ,” he growls.  
  
“This is hardly an appropriate time for this conversation,” Spock says, clearly more mindful of their audience than Kirk is willing to be.  
  
“Hurry up,” Kirk snaps at them, and between the two of them they fumble the corpse onto a stretcher and vacate the room as quickly as possible.  “I should give you to Bones for this,” he says when the door slides shut again.  
  
“But you will not.”  
  
Kirk’s teeth grind together, because the bastard’s right and they both know it.  It’s the part of all this that rankles most, that he’s just as fettered by their bond as Spock is, and lately Spock has been taking every opportunity to remind him of that fact.  
  
“This ends _now_ , do you understand me?”  He steps forward, crowding his way into the Vulcan’s space.  “I want to know what the fuck you think you’re doing, so start talking.”  
  
Spock’s features are very nearly emotionless, but Kirk can see the way his jaw tightens and he can _feel_ the burn of anger behind those dark, stoic eyes.  “This venue is not appropriate—”  
  
“Not this time.  No.”  Kirk steps even closer and lets his own anger and irritation project loud and clear.  “You’ve had your chance at appropriate.  You’re explaining yourself, and you’re doing it now.  You can consider that an order.”  
  
Leather creaks, and Kirk knows that behind his back Spock’s hands are tightening into fists.  “She was attempting sexual advances towards my bondmate.  I was well within my rights under Vulcan law.”  
  
“What, the right to snap a slave’s neck?”  
  
“Citizen or slave, my proprietary rights remain the same.  They extend to far more than the relatively painless death I granted, as well; I simply chose the most expedient option.”   
  
And _that_ is unexpected enough to have Kirk taking a couple of quick steps back.  “Wait a second.  You’re telling me that you have the right to kill _anyone_ , just for touching me?”  
  
“That is correct.” He’s not imagining the savage satisfaction in Spock’s eyes, knows it because Spock has dropped his shields enough for Kirk to be able to feel it, as well.  
  
 _Fettered_.  The word comes to him again, and there’s a brief moment of pure, blinding panic.  There’s no doubt in his mind that Spock will do exactly that now that he’s decided not to play nice anymore, will cut a bloody swath through any conquests that Kirk so much as considers.  He will cut Kirk off from any possibility of physical contact until his Human bondmate is driven half-mad with unfulfilled need.  
  
But the panic is only momentary, because he’ll be damned if he lets this be the one time he accepts a no-win scenario.  His mind is already working, filing away information for later consideration.  Even as close to desperate as he is he can see the tactical benefit that such an arrangement could hold for the Empire.  And something else occurs to him, something he’s willing to bet Spock was hoping he wouldn’t think of.  
  
“That goes both ways, I’m guessing,” and he catches the infinitesimal narrowing of Spock’s eyes that means he’s right.  “And you’d better believe that if I’m not getting laid you sure as shit aren’t either.”  
  
“Your habit of applying Human norms as a universal rule is an astonishingly narrow-minded one.”  Condescension is one of the few emotions that Spock allows himself to display openly, and his voice is thick with it now.  “Vulcans are required to mate only when the fires of _pon farr_ take us.”  
  
Kirk smiles, because he can see the cheat in Spock’s words.  “And Humans are never _required_.  But the need is there.  The _want_.  You want me, Spock.”  He begins to pace a circle around him, and while Spock may seem to be standing still Kirk can feel the Vulcan’s thoughts tracking his movements as surely as if he were turning along with him.  “You wanted me before this whole thing started; that’s why it worked.  And I can feel it now.”  Spock has made a tactical error in dropping his shields even a fraction; Kirk slides in, twisting past the hasty barriers that his bondmate tries to erect.    
  
“You pretend you don’t feel, that you’re logic and scientific curiosity and nothing else.  But you _do_ feel.”  He takes a moment to savor it, to wallow in the terrifying depths of emotion hiding behind that Vulcan mask.  “You want me so badly,” Kirk says, his voice going rough as the force of Spock’s arousal ignites his own.  “Almost as much as you hate me.”  
  
“Were I capable,” Spock says lowly, “I would kill you.”  
  
“Yeah.”  Kirk laughs because it’s true, because he can _feel_ it, and it may be hatred but this torrent of emotion is still a victory despite it all.  “Life’s a bitch, isn’t it?  Well, come on.”  His shirt is over his head almost immediately, tossed aside as Spock watches.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“You’re the genius,” Kirk says coyly.  “You tell me.  It just makes good sense, Spock.”  His hands trail down his chest and slowly set to work at the fastenings of his trousers, deliberately teasing.  “You want me.  Neither one of us is going to let anyone else touch the other, and if you’re keeping me from having sex with anyone else then you’re damn well going to take care of it yourself.”  
  
Spock’s eyes are burning, but his hands are already untying the sash at his waist.  “I will not be gentle,” he says on a growl, and Kirk smirks as he toes off his boots.  
  
“Promises, promises.”  
  
That’s as far as he gets before he’s fairly smothered in Vulcan, Spock’s mouth hot and hard and possessive on his.  Kirk does his level best to shed as many clothes as he can, as quickly as possible, but Spock’s pants are still on and Kirk’s underwear is tangled around his ankles when he’s shoved onto the bed for the second time that night.  He can’t keep track of Spock’s hands, his mouth; it seems that they’re everywhere at once, as though determined to learn him by taste and feel alone.  Spock’s gloves are still on, and the feel of butter-soft leather skating over his skin has Kirk so hard he’s surprised he doesn’t simply explode.  
  
Spock is hot, like there’s a supernova beneath his skin, and Kirk thinks he might as well stop pretending that this isn’t what he’s been craving for the past month and a half.  
  
Kirk can’t stop touching, reveling in the feeling of bare skin beneath his hands.  He wants more, though; _needs_ it.  As amazing as the leather feels he craves the touch of Spock’s fingers, the heat of his hands.  He reaches down, tugging at one glove, and before he knows it finds himself facedown on the mattress, his hands pinned painfully behind his back.  
  
“What the—”    
  
He doesn’t get any further than that before Spock’s teeth sink into his shoulder, and Kirk’s words are cut off on a moan as his hips jerk against the bed.  Spock is holding his wrists with just one hand; Kirk struggles, because it’s expected, but they both know that Vulcan strength outmatches his easily.  The idea makes Kirk’s heart beat even faster.  Sweat is breaking out over his skin by the time the bottle of lube from the nightstand lands on the sheets in front of his face.  
  
“Prepare yourself.”  Spock’s voice is like sandpaper as he releases Kirk’s wrists.  “I have no desire to injure myself when I take you.”  
  
Kirk nearly comes at that, and he can’t bring himself to tear his eyes from the pillows.  “Do it yourself, then,” he says, the challenge in his voice ruined when Spock pulls him back by the hair to hiss in his ear.  
  
“You will prepare _yourself_.  And I will watch.”  
  
Kirk can’t help the desperate moan that escapes him.  There’s no point denying how much he loves being watched, not to Spock, and the opportunity to punch a few holes in that solid Vulcan control is too tempting to pass up.  He shoves himself up onto his knees when Spock moves back, opening the lube and reaching back with his forehead still pressed against the bed.  
  
He doesn’t touch himself like this often—it’s something he usually only enjoys with a partner, but just the thought of Spock’s eyes on him is more than enough to spur him on.  He doesn’t go any easier on himself than he imagines Spock would, either, but immediately shoves two fingers in up to the knuckle.  It hurts in the best possible way, and he can feel a flood of lust pour into his head across their mental link.  Kirk plays it up, though not by much.  There’s less playacting than he would like in the way he moans and shoves his hips back to meet his fingers.  He’s just considering adding a third finger when Spock is on him, fully bare now apart from the gloves he still refuses to remove, and flips him roughly onto his back.  
  
Spock buries himself inside in a single harsh thrust and Kirk screams, pain ripping through him, muscles clenching in an instinctive rejection of the sudden invasion.  Spock ignores it and begins to move, and fuck, _fuck_ it’s good, hard and rough and brutal.  Kirk feels his legs being lifted, pressed against his chest, and then he can do nothing but hold on.  No leverage, no control, no recourse but to lie back and take the pounding of Spock’s body into his.  It’s all deliciously familiar: the pain and the helplessness, the frantic rutting as though his body is something that Spock craves along with the air being pulled into desperate lungs.  The sense of victory in having pushed the Vulcan this far, of bending him to Kirk’s will.  
  
A hand curls around his throat, painful pressure against his collarbone, until Kirk’s eyes focus on the face above his.  The instant he does so Spock lifts his free hand, teeth closing over the tips of his glove to tug it off, and it falls to Kirk’s chest as long fingers spider over his face.  
  
Spock invades Kirk’s mind as quickly and harshly as he did his body, thrusting in with a force that steals the Human’s breath.  It’s sudden, and violent, and Kirk can’t even begin to imagine a defense against it.  Spock is taking him, taking him over, branding himself into Kirk’s thoughts until there is nothing left but him.  It’s a claiming, a cleansing, a ruthless campaign against everything that Kirk is, or was, or ever will be.  
  
He almost doesn’t feel the hand that wraps around his cock, smooth leather stroking him to climax.  Spock is still sweeping through his mind like fire, burning through everything that’s not him, that’s not them, leaving nothing but ash and the bond that throbs in his mind like a wound.  And then . . .  
  
Then everything explodes.  Kirk is coming, and it’s not just in his body but in his mind, the force of it doubled as he sweeps Spock along with him.  It goes on forever, hollowing him out, leaving him pliant and helpless.  He collapses on the bed, sprawled like a rag doll and trying to remember what it feels like to be a human being.  
  
He’s vaguely aware of Spock rising, the sudden absence of his body heat leaving Kirk cold despite the blood still racing furiously through his limbs.  It’s some time—minutes?  hours?—before he can focus his eyes again.  Long enough that Spock has redressed, every hair neatly in place, no hint about his person that he’s just defiled his captain to within an inch of his life.  
  
“This is what it means,” he says smoothly, “to be bonded to a Vulcan.  I would advise, for the sake of your own well-being, that you endeavor to remember that in the future.”  
  
He turns on his heel and, without another word or backwards glance, leaves Kirk to piece together the shattered fragments of his mind.

 

 


	3. Like a False Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a forced bonding is something Kirk hasn't truly considered.  He'll have to do so now.  Sequel to [Though This Be Madness, Yet There is Method In't](http://ladyblahblah.livejournal.com/16125.html).  A love story, of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  Look, it's another part of the story that I totally haven't forgotten about!  That's right, another installment of Kirk and Spock being all evil and porny and . . . wait a second . . . is that . . . is that the first tender growth of _plot_?  No, no, no, that's unacceptable!  SOMEONE GET THE SPRAY!

 

 

 

  
“I’m so glad you could make it to our little affair, Captain.” 

The Ambassador’s smile is ripe with promises, and Kirk immediately hardens in response.  He feels Spock’s irritation flare across their bond, but the Vulcan doesn’t move or even look up from his conversation with a group of delegates across the room.  He can’t logically expect Kirk to remain unaffected tonight, after all; not in a room full of Deltans.  Whose brilliant idea it was to allow them to hold the reception on Delta IV itself, Kirk has no idea, but he wonders how they’ve yet to be executed for sheer incompetence.

“I’d hardly call this a ‘little’ affair, Ambassador,” Kirk smiles, pushing his irritation to the back of his mind and glancing pointedly around the glittering ballroom.  “I’m sure the Emperor will appreciate that you spared no expense.”

“We could do no less for the anniversary of his ascension,” the Ambassador responds with a gracious bow.  “And please, there’s no need to stand on formality; I would be pleased if you were to call me Keil.”

“In that case, you’ll have to call me Jim.”  Kirk’s smile grows wider as Keil’s eyes warm and sweep quickly over Kirk’s body.  “Forgive me for being forward,” he says casually, letting his own glance travel fleetingly around the room again, “but I’m burdened with . . . call it an overdeveloped sense of curiosity.  I’ve heard that Deltans are so much more sexually advanced that Humans would risk their own sanity by copulating with one.”  He sips at his champagne without taking his eyes from his host.  “Any truth to that old wives’ tale?”

“Ah, gossip,” Keil sighs.  “It’s such a malicious thing, isn’t it?”  He grins, his eyes sparkling wickedly.  “Far better to base your opinion on firsthand information, don’t you think?”

Kirk can’t help but laugh at that.  “Well, I’ve always been a strong believer in the scientific method, myself.”

Keil’s eyes linger on Kirk’s lips, and it’s a struggle not to come in his pants at the barrage of thoughts that simple look engenders.  “I believe I have been unforgivably remiss in my duties as a host; I have yet to show you our gardens, and they’re widely regarded as some of the Empire’s finest.  Would you care for a private tour, Jim?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Kirk agreed hotly.  “Excuse me for a moment?  I need to make sure my presence won’t be missed.”

“Of course,” Keil nods.  “But please, make your excuses as quickly as possible.”

“Count on it,” Kirk murmurs, and offers a shallow bow before he strides quickly away.

“Bones.”  His CMO is loitering near the buffet, looking profoundly uncomfortable in his dress uniform.  “I need you to do something.”

McCoy eyes him in a calculating sort of way.  “If you’re calling me Bones, I assume this is a personal favor, right?”

“It is,” Kirk says reasonably, “unless you say no.  Then it’ll be an order from your Captain who’s pissed he had to _make_ it an order, and is that something you’d really like to deal with tonight?”

“So touchy,” McCoy grumbles.  “All right, then, what do you need?”

“For you to keep Spock busy for . . .”  He glances back at where Keil is waiting.  “Let’s call it twenty minutes.”

McCoy follows his gaze, and his eyes go comically wide before he takes a deep breath.  “Permission to speak freely, Captain?”

Kirk regards him critically for a moment, then nods.  “Go ahead.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” McCoy hisses.  “As if screwing a Deltan weren’t dangerous enough, you want to try to do it behind Spock’s back?  Are you _trying_ to start an interplanetary incident?”

“No, I’m trying to _avoid_ one, which is why I need you to keep my ridiculously possessive bondmate busy.”  Kirk’s eyes harden.  “I’ll can make it an order if I have to, Doctor, but if I do you should know that I’ll be considerably less inclined to make sure Spock doesn’t hold you partially responsible for what happens.”

McCoy pales, but he gives a jerky nod.  “Understood, Captain.”

“Good.  Twenty minutes, starting now.”

Keil smiles again as Kirk approaches, and Kirk smiles back even as his body aches.  All he can think about is getting the other man naked and under him, over him, finding out firsthand exactly what a Deltan’s sexuality entails.  He hardly notices the gardens they pass through, distracted by glimpses of other couples, bodies tangled together and skin flashing pale in the light from the double moons.  How many others, he wonders?  How many would end the night broken by what they’ve felt?  Would they think it was worth it?

Would he?

That’s his last thought before Keil stops and turns, pulling Kirk into his arms with one swift, smooth tug.  Their mouths meet, already open, and Kirk groans helplessly as the Deltan’s pheromones burst over him.  He needs more; more skin, more heat, more of whatever the hell that is that Keil is doing with his tongue because _god_ that’s good.  His sense of time begins to fail him; he’s no longer measuring in minutes and seconds but in the pass of Keil’s hands over his skin, the press of his mouth against Kirk’s neck.  Kirk is vaguely aware that he’s busy struggling his way past the elaborate folds of Keil’s clothing, and that his own trousers have been worked open by deft, slender hands.

Lost, swamped with need stronger than anything he’s ever felt before, Kirk uses his last whisper of will to throw open his mind and call to his bondmate.

The fury that roars immediately through his mind makes him groan and harden until he feels ready to burst.  Spock’s rage and Keil’s touch are a heady mixture that only grows more overwhelming the closer the Vulcan gets.  Kirk is astounded to realize that he can actually _feel_ the distance between them shortening, like a tether being quickly reeled in.  He pulls Keil closer and thrusts into his hand, his eyes focused over the Deltan’s shoulder.

Spock is moving so quickly that Kirk has hardly caught sight of him before Keil is being bodily torn from his arms and dangled above the ground by better than six feet of snarling, furious Vulcan.  Kirk swiftly reaches out with his mind and pulls his bondmate’s consciousness around him like a blanket, forming a blissful layer of protection against the pheromones still saturating the air.  The intimacy of it is shocking, and it makes Spock pause with his fingers locked threateningly around Keil’s neck.  For good measure, Kirk delivers a sharp mental slap as he lets a cold smile creep over his face.

“Oh, my.”  He purses his lips and considers the frantic, terrified Deltan.  “Did I forget to mention that I was sort of married?  How careless of me.”  His mind rubs against Spock’s like a cat, encouraging patience even as the caress makes Kirk tremble.  “You know, Vulcan law is a fascinating thing,” he muses, refastening his loosened clothing.  “Did you know that infringing on their mating rights is actually a crime throughout the Empire?”

“I am an Ambassador,” Keil manages to gasp, which is frankly impressive considering the grip that Spock has on him.  “You can not—”

“Actually,” Kirk says with an easy smile, “I was surprised to discover that this is one of the very few instances in which ambassadorial immunity doesn’t apply.”  He shrugs.  “Guess the Vulcans take this one pretty seriously.  Seriously enough that Spock could actually kill you here and now, on your own planet, in your own _house_ , and be completely within his legal rights.  But,” he adds with an amused look at his bondmate, “ _fascinatingly_ enough, he doesn’t have to.”

Realization blooms suddenly in Spock’s mind, along with something very like reluctant admiration.  “Indeed,” he says, lowering Keil a fraction, until his toes are able to scrape against the ground.  “I do, in fact, have a variety of options open to me.”

“Possessive bastards, Vulcans,” Kirk laughs.  “As it turns out, by making sexual advances towards his bondmate you’ve basically forfeited yourself to him for a length of time directly proportional to the time you spent infringing on his rights.  Proportional,” he says pointedly, “but not equal.  You’re going to be his guest for almost a full month, Ambassador, and frankly if he chooses to kill you before that time is up he’d be doing you a favor.”

“ _Why_?” Keil demands desperately.  “You set me up, why—”

“Because if you’re going to take part in a conspiracy against the Emperor, you can’t rely on ambassadorial privilege to keep you safe,” Kirk says coldly.  “You’re going to die for this, Keil, there’s no way around that.  I have you on my ship for twenty days; tell us what we want to know, and we might consent to kill you before that time is up.”  He pulls out his communicator and flips it open.  “Kirk to Enterprise.  Three to beam up.”

A security team is already waiting in the transporter room when they materialize, though they maintain a respectful—and safe—distance when they see the grip that their First Officer still has on the Deltan ambassador’s shoulder.  Kirk ignores all of them, striding over to the intercom set into the wall.

“Kirk to Bridge.”

“Aye, Captain!”

“Set a course for Earth and prepare to break orbit on my command.”

“Aye, Sir.”

He pulls his communicator back out and adjusts the setting to page Lieutenant Uhura.  She answers a moment later, voice calm but wary.  “Uhura here.”

“Lieutenant, this is the Captain.  Make our excuses and get the rest of our people out of here.  We have another pressing appointment we have to keep.  Got it?”

“Yes, Sir.  Understood.”

He turns back to the others and rakes his gaze over Spock’s body, taking in the sight of him standing tall and elegant in his dress uniform.  “Security, take the prisoner to Sickbay,” he says without taking his eyes from his bondmate.  “Chapel’s on duty; tell her to prep him, and make sure she knows to use the neural inhibitors.”

“Captain,” Spock starts, his hand tightening on Keil’s shoulder, but Kirk shakes his head sharply.

“Mr. Spock, with me.”

He turns without bothering to see if his orders are being obeyed and heads for his quarters.  He can feel Spock following just behind him, feel the heat of his body and the press of his thoughts.  It’s a struggle, but he manages to wait until his door slides shut behind them before he turns and yanks Spock’s mouth down to his, unable to stop a moan when his tongue sweeps over Spock’s lips.

“That was a foolish risk,” Spock growls, pushing Kirk until his back slams against the bulkhead.  “You should have informed me of what you had planned.”

“You’d have gone ballistic,” Kirk counters, opening his jacket while Spock’s hands attack his trousers.  “Willingly let someone else touch me, give me pleasure?”  He shakes his head, and his breath stutters as Spock’s teeth sink hard into his shoulder.  “Never would’ve gone for it.”

“You are correct.  I would not have allowed it.”

“There you go, then.”  Kirk’s head hits the wall hard and he swears hotly when Spock wraps one leather-clad fist around his leaking erection.  “I knew you’d come for me,” he murmurs.  “Knew you wouldn’t be willing to let anyone else have me.”  He arches against the furnace-hot body pinning him in place.  “Damn shame, really; he sure as hell knew what he was doing.  I can still feel his hands on me.”

Spock’s growl is wordless this time.  “You will not attempt such a foolhardy stunt again.  You will not permit another to lay hands on you.  You are _mine_.”

“Oh yeah?”  Kirk leaves a trail of biting kisses over Spock’s jaw.  “Prove it.”

It happens hard and fast and rough after that.  Spock spins him around to take him there against the wall, pausing only long enough to slick himself with the lubricant Kirk has stashed in his pocket.   He pushes inside with no more preparation than that, and Kirk’s pain mixes deliciously with the sense of Spock’s brutal satisfaction.  Kirk is already on the edge when a hand spiders over his face; the first white-hot pulse of Spock’s mind in his obliterates everything else, and he snatches at the feeling with greedy mental fingers even as he comes hard against the bulkhead.

Kirk would be content to simply stand there for the rest of the night, propped up between the wall and Spock’s body.  But all too soon Spock is pulling out of him, mind and body both, leaving Kirk shaking and empty and cursing his own weakness.

“You should know, despite whatever plans you may have,” Spock says a moment later, “that I have no intention of offering the Deltan an early death.  You will not be able to do this again; this one will serve as an example to any who would dare to lay their hands on what is mine.”

“Yeah, well.”  Kirk rests his head against the bulkhead for a moment before reaching down to pull his trousers back up.  “I kind of figured that, actually.”  He shrugs.  “That sort of trick can only really work once, anyway.”

“Indeed.”  Spock hesitates, fixing Kirk with a contemplative gaze.  “I will bathe and change before I begin.  You have questions for him, I believe.  Would you care to accompany me in order to ask them?”

“Absolutely.  I’m heading to the Bridge; I’ll meet you in Sickbay after we break orbit.  Don’t do anything fun without me.”

He might be wrong, but he thinks that he feels a tiny whisper of amusement drift from Spock’s mind to his.  “Understood, Captain.”

Kirk has to laugh then, clapping Spock on the shoulder as he heads to the ‘fresher.  “You can go ahead and call me Jim.”

 

 

 

 


	4. Like a False Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a forced bonding is something Kirk hasn't truly considered.  He'll have to do so now.  Sequel to [Though This Be Madness, Yet There is Method In't](http://ladyblahblah.livejournal.com/16125.html).  A love story, of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While waiting for the return of the next part of _The Ivy Crown_ , I give you . . . Mirrorverse fic!  What?  Those two things are similar, right? :erm:

 

  
The first thing that he registers is the cold. That’s not right; he knows it isn’t, but he can’t quite think of why. He drifts away again before he can figure it out.

 

When he’s aware again, he’s still cold. There’s something warm nearby, however, like he’s lying next to a furnace. His hand twitches, trying to reach out towards it. He can’t seem to do more than twitch, but the heat moves towards him of its own accord, wrapping itself around his hand. It’s smooth and soft and dry against his skin. A sense of calm steals over him, making him feel safe and relaxed. Then there’s gentle pressure against his neck, and a soft hiss, and he’s gone again.

 

The next time he’s no longer cold, but the warmth that had been next to him is gone. He’s more aware now, and wishes that he wasn’t because everything aches. Long years of paranoia keep him from staying under, however, and he works his eyes cautiously open.

 

Kirk isn’t overly surprised to find that he’s in sickbay, though he doesn’t remember how he got there; that’s worrying. McCoy and his nurses are nowhere to be seen; that’s a comfort. He’s attached to more tubes and machines than usual, monitoring his heart rate and blood pressure and a million other things he can’t identify. He’s been in this position twice before in his captaincy, after assassination attempts that came entirely too close to success for comfort. His usual sense of paranoia is missing, though. Back to worrying again: that paranoia is what’s kept him alive this long.

 

He tries to ease out of the biobed, every muscle in his body screaming protest as he goes, but one of the monitors starts up a frantic beeping and McCoy comes rushing out of his office, growling curses.

 

“Get your ass back in bed,” he snaps, pushing Kirk back down with a surprisingly gentle hand. “You think I have you hooked up to all of this for the hell of it?”

 

“Dr. McCoy,” Kirk starts warningly, but either the other man is used to him by now or he’s simply not intimidated by the weak imitation of command that Kirk forced out of his parched throat, because he simply glares.

 

“If you’re gonna tell me I’m being insubordinate, save it. Hell, I’m likely to try offing you myself if you try. I’ve spent the past fifteen hours trying to save your damned life; you get up out of that bed against medical advice again and you’ll be in for the most painful death I can manage before that psychotic hobgoblin gets here to save you.”

 

“Is that what happened?” Kirk’s voice is still rough, and McCoy pours a small cup of water that he shoves into his captain’s hand. “Assassination attempt?”

 

“You guessed it.” McCoy’s eyes are glued to the monitors now; every few moments he makes a notation on his PADD. “Spock’s in with the girl now,” he adds, and Jim nearly chokes.

 

“Spock?” He shouldn’t be surprised; not really. It might not exactly be protocol for a ship’s first officer to head an investigation of this type, but Spock has always been given to creatively reinterpreting protocol when it suits him. Kirk takes another careful sip of water. “How’s he doing with it?”

 

“Hell if I know,” McCoy snorts. “He’s been the next best thing to a ghost since you went down. Won’t let me or Sulu anywhere near her, just rattles off something about Vulcan law and territorial rights. I haven’t seen Sulu this pissed off since the Orion.”

 

Kirk lifts an eyebrow. “And how pissed off are _you_ , Doctor?”

 

“Annoyed,” McCoy corrects, “but pissed?” He lets a single shoulder rise and fall in a shrug. “Human of Terran extraction. Born in Ontario, according to her records. Doubt there’s much new to be learned there. If you’d tell the ball and chain to be more considerate with any other species that try to kill you in the future, though, I’d take it as a kindness.”

 

Kirk snorts. “I’ll give that some serious consideration. Now you’ve stalled long enough; tell me what happened.”

 

“It was one of your yeomen; Evelynn Barick. Pretty little redhead. She laced your bedsheets with poison; you went to bed last night, slipped between the sheets, and absorbed a good solid dose of it through your skin. You’d have been dead by morning if Spock hadn’t found you.”

 

“Fuck.” Kirk rubs a hand over her mouth. “How very Deianeiran of her.”

 

McCoy chuckles . “Hell of a lot more creative than the last few, you’ve gotta give her that.”

 

“A yeoman.” The thought hasn’t even occurred to Kirk until now. She doesn’t stand to benefit directly from his death, which means . . . “Any word on who she’s working with?”

 

“Not so far as I’d heard. Like I said though, Spock’s been playing it pretty close to the chest. Most I’ve been able to gather is she doesn’t much like his methods, if the screams from the brig are any sign.”

 

Kirk closes his eyes and finds that they don’t want to open again. “’d you give me something?” he demands, trying for harsh but only managing drunken.

 

“You’re on a sedative drip.” McCoy’s voice sounds far away; Kirk wonders where he’s going. “I’m surprised you managed to wake up through it at all. Stop trying to fight it or I’ll up your dosage.”

 

There’s more, something about damage to internal organs and rate of repair, but Kirk is already drifting.

 

He wakes again later, cursing the fact that he doesn’t know how much time has passed. If there’s one thing a captain can’t afford, it’s a lengthy convalescence. He gathers his strength, ready to struggle to his feet, McCoy’s warnings be damned.

 

“I persuaded Dr. McCoy to end your sedation on the assurance that I would keep you from attempting escape.” Kirk’s eyes go wide as he seeks out the source of that voice and finds Spock stepping quietly across the room. One dark eyebrow wings up. “I will keep you in that bed by force if need be,” he adds calmly, and Kirk feels a stir of anticipation.

 

“Hmm.” He smirks just to enjoy the trickle of irritation that seeps through the cracks he’s managed to pick out in Spock’s shields. “I doubt our good doctor would approve, but there’s not much I could do to stop you.” He shifts slightly, arching his back a bit to stretch it out. “I’m too wiped to put up much of a fight; I’d just have to lie here all weak and defenseless while you used me.” Despite only sensing a fraction of it, the lust that swamps Spock then nearly steals Kirk’s breath even as that cool, blank face remains unchanged. Kirk grins in genuine triumph now, a wide shark’s smile designed to let his bondmate know he wasn’t being fooled by appearances. “But business before pleasure,” he amends, growing serious in an instant. “Report, Mr. Spock.”

 

Spock draws himself impossibly straighter into a stiff parade rest. It’s something that Kirk finds disturbingly enticing now that he knows full well the violence and heat that are buried beneath the formality. Time enough to worry over that later, however; in this moment, his attention is fixed on what Spock is about to say.

 

“I have finished with my interrogation of Yeoman Barick,” Spock begins. “She was equipped with several capsules of poison for self-administration. If you have no objections, sir, I will split them between Dr. McCoy and my own lab for further study.” Kirk nods his acceptance of that with narrowed eyes, focused for the moment on what Spock hasn’t said. A threat to the captain meant a full body and cavity search. He wonders if Spock enjoyed it; Kirk knows he would have. “She proved surprisingly easy to break in the end: her terror of the Vulcan mind meld seemed to overpower any training she may have been given.”

 

“You melded with her?” Kirk says sharply, and Spock’s eyebrow raises again.

 

“Thankfully, that was unnecessary. She has identified herself as a member of the faction to which Ambassador Keil belonged, and confirmed that the attempt on your life was intended as retaliation for our actions on Deneva. I advise keeping her alive for the immediate future, until her claims can be verified. It is also possible that with further encouragement she may disclose additional information.”

 

“She’s still alive?” Kirk asks without bothering to hide his surprise. He leans back against the pillow and considers Spock thoughtfully. “How about that.”

 

“As I have stated,” Spock says stiffly, “she may yet be of use as an informant.” His eyes flicker away for the barest moment. “I had also considered,” he adds, “that you may wish to take responsibility for her termination. Your past methods of dispatching your would-be assassins have always been admirably creative, and an effective way of maintaining the crew’s respect and fear.”

 

“I see.” Kirk firmly ignores the warmth that has begun to build in his chest. “That was well done, Mr. Spock, though I hate to deprive you of your due vengeance.” He hesitates, then, “Together,” he says decisively. “Between the two of us she doesn’t stand a ghost of a chance.”

 

“That would be most satisfactory.” There’s something almost like a hint of a smile on Spock’s lips, something that makes Kirk’s own mouth curve up in response. “If there is nothing else, Captain—” He cuts off suddenly at Kirk’s wince.

 

“It’s nothing,” Kirk says, holding up a hand. It’s all he has the energy for at the moment. “I think McCoy cut some of the painkillers along with the sedatives, the sadistic bastard. I’ll be fine.”

 

Spock considers him for a moment before stepping forward, one hand slowly stripping the glove from the other. “Lie back,” he says, his voice low and dark, and a shiver shoots like lightning down Kirk’s spine.

 

“Spock—”

 

“You are too weak to fight me.” Another shiver at that, at what Kirk knows full well is true. “Lie back,” he says again.

 

Kirk can’t struggle physically, but he’s not without options. He’s certain he can manage to roll off the bed before Spock reaches him. McCoy will hear the machines’ alarms, and come in from the office. It won’t be enough, but there’s still the Security team that will be called, with phasers and agonizers enough to subdue even a Vulcan. He is not helpless.

 

He lies back.

 

Spock’s fingers are hot against his face, and Kirk’s eyes flutter shut of their own accord. There’s a moment, just a single, fleeting moment, where there’s only the physical sensation of Spock’s touch, hot skin and light pressure. Then Spock’s mind is drawing him in, subsuming him until there’s nothing in his world beyond the thoughts wrapped around his own.

 

It’s unlike any meld that has come before. No violence, no immediacy, no desperation. If those melds were like being consumed, then this is like drowning. Spock is around and against and within him, so deeply a part of him that Kirk can no longer say for sure when his own mind ends and Spock’s begins. The pain dims, then disappears, and a sweet, irresistible lethargy overtakes Kirk’s body.

 

“You will rest now,” he dimly hears Spock saying, his words echoing strangely in Kirk’s ears and thoughts at once. “Regain your strength. There is much work yet to be done, and I have no wish to see to it on my own.”

 

Kirk surrenders to the pull towards unconsciousness, wondering if he imagined the feeling of Spock’s fingers stroking lightly across his skin as he pulled his hand away.  
  
  


 


	5. Like a False Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a forced bonding is something Kirk hasn't truly considered.  He'll have to do so now.  Sequel to [Though This Be Madness, Yet There is Method In't](http://ladyblahblah.livejournal.com/16125.html).  A love story, of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The return of sextiems!  Only one more part to go after this, hooray!  OMG I'M ALMOST FINISHED WITH SOMETHING I CAN'T BELIEVE IT.

 

 

 

 

Kirk is mildly surprised to realize that he’s never had Uhura in the Booth before. It’s a shame, really; her screams are almost melodic, and he’s glad he thought to have them recorded.

 

“Captain.” Spock’s voice makes him stiffen, in more ways than one. He glances over to see the Vulcan standing rigid beside him, eyes trained on the woman gone rigid in agony as pain assaults her from every direction at once. “I was unaware that the Agony Booth was scheduled for use today.”

 

“Spur of the moment decision,” Kirk says coolly. “You know how we Humans are: no tolerance for structure.”

 

“I am curious as to why I was not made aware of this ‘spur of the moment decision’.” Kirk knows when Spock shifts to face him directly. He can hear it in the change in his voice, see the movement from the corner of his eye. There’s only that, though; there’s no sense of the man next to him, and Kirk sets his jaw against a fresh wave of fury. “As First Officer, disciplinary action is—”

 

“Is under your purview,” Kirk cuts in, “ _at my discretion_.” He turns to Spock, then, Uhura’s screams still cutting through the air between them as Kirk narrows his eyes, fisting his hands to keep from reaching out. “You wouldn’t by any chance be trying to tell me how to run my ship, would you Commander?”

 

Spock draws himself up even straighter. “Of course not, Captain.” Uhura screams again, and something flickers in Spock’s eyes; nothing that Kirk can identify, but a reaction. He feels the cold wash of victory even as his blood begins to boil. “Perhaps we might continue this discussion in a more private location?”

 

For a moment Kirk nearly says no. He’s gone to some small amount of trouble to arrange this little show, and Uhura does scream so nicely. But this isn’t where the endgame lies, and he wants this over with sooner rather than later.

 

“By all means,” he says instead. “I know just the place.” He glances back at Uhura, writhing again in an attempt to escape the pain, and shoots the guards a hard look. “Another fifteen minutes.”

 

“Yes, sir,” they bark with a salute, and he gives them a curt nod of acknowledgement. He turns to his personal guard next.

 

“Dismissed,” he says, raising his eyebrows when he doesn’t receive a swift response.

 

“Sir,” his pointman says hesitantly, “are you sure that’s wise given—”

 

“Are you angling for some time in the Booth yourself?” Kirk asks sharply and enjoys a buzz of satisfaction when the men pale. “Never fear, gentlemen; certainly I can’t be safer than I am with my bondmate.”

 

His words clearly don’t reassure them, but then, they weren’t meant to. Nevertheless they offer a hasty salute and retreat, and Kirk turns to Spock with a cool, impassive look on his face.

 

“With me, Commander.”

 

Spock follows readily, beside and half a step behind his captain as always. Like everything related to his duties, it’s a position that Spock holds with textbook perfection. The rage that simmers in Kirk’s blood threatens to explode, but he holds it back. He’s still in control of the situation, and has no intention of surrendering that. He can afford to be patient.

 

“It has been my understanding,” Spock says as they stalk their way through the corridors, “that ten minutes in the Booth was standard for a first infraction.”

 

“Has it been?” Kirk doesn’t spare him so much as a glance. “Interesting.”

 

“Furthermore, I must confess that I am at a loss as to explain what crime might warrant such an increased penalty while not justifying immediate execution.”

 

“I haven’t entirely ruled that second option out. But this makes more of an impression on the crew, don’t you think?” Kirk does glance over then, allowing a hint of a smirk to curl his lips. “Fear must be maintained, Mr. Spock.”

 

Spock raises an eyebrow, but offers no further opinion beyond, “Quite so.”

 

Kirk stops them outside of the door to Spock’s quarters, and another flicker passes over his First Officer’s face when Kirk steps aside and gestures for Spock to enter first. As they walk inside Kirk takes a moment to glance around. He hasn’t been in Spock’s quarters since the night he’d hijacked the mating drive that had begun their rather unorthodox relationship. Kirk’s attention had been otherwise occupied at the time, and this is the first time he’s gotten a good look around. He takes in the unexpectedly luxurious curtains that cover the walls, the tastefully lit pieces of Vulcan art that he’s recovered from captured ships over the course of their mission. The far wall boasts an impressive display of weapons that spark Kirk’s curiosity.

 

“Captain. Jim.” Spock reaches the middle of the room and begins to turn towards him. “I do not—”

 

The stunning beam from Kirk’s phaser hits Spock square in the stomach and steals the rest of his words. He’s weakened but not out, and Kirk braces both hands on Spock’s chest and _shoves_ , sending him stumbling back until his legs hit the edge of the bed and he falls gracelessly onto the mattress. Kirk is on him in a second, straddling Spock’s hips and pinning his shoulders, finally letting the fury that’s consuming him show on his face. He’d never be able to manage it with Spock at full strength, but he has several minutes now before the stun starts wearing off.

 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he snarls. “Do you think I didn’t see? That I wouldn’t know?” His fingers dig sharply into Spock’s shoulders as he glares down at him. “It’s been almost a month since you last touched me; you’ve shut down the bond again; and all that time you’ve been with _her_.”

 

“I . . . have not,” Spock grits out, and Kirk sneers as he leans down until his lips are brushing the tip of one pointed ear.

 

“I’ve seen what you have inside,” he hisses. “The _fire_. Maybe you haven’t touched her yet.” He tilts his head, takes a deep breath to draw in Spock’s scent, and bites hard at the tender skin behind Spock’s jaw. “But you would have eventually, if I hadn’t stepped in.” One hand leaves Spock’s shoulder and trails down; he shifts his hips as he sits up, shuddering hard when he feels the evidence of Spock’s arousal grinding against his own.

 

“You are mistaken,” Spock manages, and Kirk snorts. He lifts the agonizer he’s unclipped from Spock’s belt and watches his bondmate’s eyes widen.

 

“These are really rather . . . fascinating,” Kirk says, running his gaze over the innocuous-looking box. “Specially tuned to its owner’s biochemistry. I remember when they fitted me for mine.” He lowers the device to hover just above Spock’s chest, transfixed by his careful, shallow breaths. “Three days of torture before they got it right. I imagine yours took even longer, with no Vulcans to serve as precedent.” His gaze lifts to meet Spock’s, and Kirk activates the agonizer a bare second before he presses it to the center of Spock’s chest.

 

He only keeps contact for a moment, but it’s enough to send the body beneath him arching off the bed, hips slamming up against Kirk’s so that he has to grip tight with his thighs to keep from being bucked off. Kirk groans and grinds back against the pressure. Then he tosses the agonizer aside, and as Spock collapses with a shudder and gasp Kirk pulls out his knife to cut the shirts from Spock’s body in a single swift, practiced slash.

 

“This deal goes both ways, sweetheart.” Kirk’s breathing heavily as he cuts and tears at the rest of Spock’s clothing, shedding his own as quickly as possible and settling himself back over Spock’s thighs. He reaches down to find Spock hard and ready, immediately starting to work at him with tight, hard strokes. “You think you get to use this however you want? This is _mine_. Do you understand that?” He feels ready to explode, furious and determined and turned on beyond anything he’s ever felt before. “Next time it won’t be the Booth. So much as _think_ of fucking anyone else again and they’re as good as dead.”

 

He doesn’t give Spock a chance to respond, just scoots back and lowers his head to take Spock full in his mouth. It’s the first time he’s done so, and he’d prefer to take his time, to memorize the shape and taste and searing heat, but he can’t wait any longer. So instead he bobs his head once, twice, coating Spock’s cock with a thick sheen of saliva, lifts himself back up and impales himself with a single sharp slam of his hips.

 

The pain is excruciating: a deep, harsh burn that seems to spread out to envelop his entire body. But the relief of having Spock buried inside of him again is overpowering even the pain, and Kirk begins to rock his hips.

 

“Fuck,” he breathes, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces his hands on Spock’s chest for better leverage. “Fucking _hell_. So good.” Kirk begins to move in earnest, lifting up to slam back down and letting out a deep, rumbling groan every time he takes Spock back in. His eyes snap open to find that Spock’s are still slightly dazed but clearing, locked on Kirk’s body as it rises and falls on top of him. “You. Are _mine_ ,” Kirk grits out. “Your body.” He reaches out, fumbling until he finds Spock’s right hand and raises it to his face, warm leather soft against his face. “Your mind. Spock.” The rhythm of his hips is faltering as pleasure begins to draw tighter at the base of his spine. “Now. Give it to me, it’s _mine_ , fucking _do it_.”

 

Spock pulls his hand free, pulling the glove off with his teeth and it’s all Kirk can do to keep from coming at the sight. A bare second later Spock’s fingers are latched onto Kirk’s face, Kirk’s mind already open and eager as Spock slips inside. _Mine_ , he thinks, _mine mine mine, don’t make me wait this long again, need this so good harder faster deeper more._

 

He doesn’t remember nearing the edge, only the white-hot burst of climax and the pulse of Spock’s body, his mind, setting off a second orgasm so good it almost hurts. When he remembers how to think again he finds himself collapsed on top of Spock, struggling to draw enough air into his lungs. Kirk summons enough energy to slip to one side with a wincing hiss as Spock slips out of him. He’s sore and boneless and filthy, his limbs leaden and enervated, but the memory of something that he saw in Spock’s mind is tickling at the back of his consciousness.

 

“You fucking bastard.” The words are muffled by Spock’s shoulder, but he knows he’s been heard. His mind is clearing slowly but surely, and he already feels more like himself than he has in weeks. “Don’t you dare ever do that again.”

 

“Might I inquire—”

 

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.” He struggles to lift his head to glare at Spock, but gives it up after a moment. “I’m not a goddamned science experiment.”

 

“I had not anticipated such severe withdrawal symptoms,” Spock says, and through their still-open bond Kirk can sense something almost contrite. “Had I known how harshly you were affected, I would not have withheld contact for so long.”

 

Kirk snorts, too wrung-out and sated at the moment to work up a decent rage. No matter; he’ll get to that later.

 

“Well, now you know. Lucky for you I didn’t end up killing Uhura after all—you’d be in deep shit if I had to find a decent Communications Officer to replace her.”

 

“I shall count myself fortunate, then.”

 

“I’m not leaving,” Kirk says abruptly, “so stop wondering when it’s going to happen.”

 

“These are my quarters,” Spock points out.

 

“And this is _my ship_ , you’re _my bondmate_ , and I’ll sleep wherever I damn well please.” Kirk burrows more firmly into the pillow. “Is that understood, Commander?”

 

“Yes, Jim,” Spock says quietly as he shifts to fit his body more comfortably against Kirk’s. “Understood.”

 

Kirk will deal with the satisfaction seeping through their bond later. For now he surrenders to warmth and exhaustion and slides unresisting into sleep.  
  
  
  


 


	6. Like a False Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a forced bonding is something Kirk hasn't truly considered.  He'll have to do so now.  Sequel to [Though This Be Madness, Yet There is Method In't](http://ladyblahblah.livejournal.com/16125.html).  A love story, of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE FINAL PART CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?  I promised you guys evil mirorverse!romance; don't say I never did nothin' for ya. -_-

 

 

 

 

Kirk has sent half a dozen people to the Agony Booth, and two more to McCoy for more in-depth conversations regarding their shortcomings. He’s hardly seen a soul in the past twelve hours, but it doesn’t matter; if Spock doesn’t wake up soon, Kirk is going to send the whole damn ship up in flames.

 

“A healing trance,” McCoy says. “He’ll wake up from it when he’s ready.”

 

Spock’s vitals are steady, and he’s been patched up well enough that there’s no trace of the hole that had sizzled its way through his side, mere inches above his heart. Spock is quiet in Kirk’s head, but he’s _there_ ; that and that alone has allowed Kirk to leave Sickbay long enough to attend to necessary business. Only one crewmember has had the temerity to criticize the amount of time that Kirk is devoting to overseeing his bondmate’s recovery; the man’s corpse is still lying on McCoy’s operating table, and everyone else has kept their mouths wisely shut. The doctor himself has long since given up on trying to clear his captain out of the Intensive Care bay and retreated to his office, unwilling to put himself in the path of Kirk’s fury for any longer than absolutely necessary.

 

Something seems to shiver in his mind, and Kirk strides quickly to Spock’s bedside. His bondmate’s face is as quiet and still as it has been since he beamed up. The sense of _other_ in Kirk’s brain is growing stronger, however, and he finds himself unconsciously flexing his fingers. An image rises unbidden of his palm cracking hard against Spock’s cheek. Kirk frowns and blinks, trying to clear it from his thoughts. It returns, stronger and clearer now, and a sense of urgency overtakes him.

 

His arm is lifting before he can think better of it, swinging down to land a vicious open-handed slap across Spock’s face. The urgency within him only rises and he strikes again, and again; his hand is dropping for a fourth blow when his forearm is suddenly caught in a viselike grip, and Spock’s eyes struggle open.

 

Kirk’s breath explodes from his chest as he sags in relief, his mind clearing again. For a long moment he simply stares down into brown eyes as he allows his fear and anger and desperation to fill him before they drain away completely.

 

“Mr. Spock,” he says at last, unable to care that the words come out rough and slightly unsteady. “I don’t remember giving you permission for a leave of absence.”

 

“My apologies, sir.” Warmth and quiet amusement trickles through their bond. “I will, of course, accept any punishment you deem fitting.”

 

“Smartass,” Kirk snorts, but there’s no heat behind the word. He slides his arm from Spock’s loosened grip and takes a gloved hand in his own. “I _ought_ to punish you. That blast fucking _hurt_.”

 

“The base?”

 

“Taken, which is the only reason the rest of the landing team is still alive. As it is, I imagine they’ll be a bit more conscientious about their First Officer’s safety in the future.” His hand tightens around Spock’s even as his voice softens. “Next time, send the enlisted men in first. It’s what they’re here for.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Spock’s hand tightens in return. “Jim.”

 

Kirk’s heart is hammering hard in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins until he’s very nearly trembling. It’s a feeling he recognizes from every time he’s ever come up against a precipice and flung himself blindly over. His eyes stay locked on Spock’s as he eases his fingers free and slowly, cautiously slips them down to grasp the soft edge of the leather that covers the Vulcan’s hand.

 

Spock says nothing as Kirk peels the glove away, as it falls unheeded to the floor between them. Kirk’s gaze falls to Spock’s bare hand then; it’s the first time he’s gotten a proper look at it since this all began, and a shiver runs down his spine at the unexpected intimacy of the sight. He reaches out, hesitant despite himself, to find Spock’s fingers meeting his halfway. Skin slides against skin and electricity seems to sizzle through Kirk’s entire body.

 

“Spock,” he says quietly as something inside of him simply gives way. Whatever he may have said next, however, is lost in the sudden sound of footsteps from the direction of McCoy’s office. Kirk squeezes Spock’s fingers once, briefly, and fights back the shocking wave of pleasure that echoes across their bond as he bends to retrieve the fallen glove. “I’ll be waiting,” he says quietly, and feels acknowledgement in return before he stands back.

 

“Well.” McCoy is very nearly smiling as he strides into the room. “Our favorite patient is finally awake, I see.”

 

“Make sure he’s fully healed before you let him threaten you into letting him go,” Kirk says, his voice clear of all traces of the emotion that was wreaking merry havoc in his mind a moment ago, and he feels a warm wash of his bondmate’s approval. Kirk turns to him, allowing one corner of his mouth to lift slightly. “I’ll expect you in my quarters as soon as you’re ship-shape, Commander. We still have some matters to discuss.”

 

“As you command, Captain,” Spock murmurs.

 

Kirk has to spend several long minutes alone in his quarters with the memory of those words ringing in his ears.

 

It’s nearly halfway through Gamma shift before Kirk’s door chimes and he releases the lock to allow Spock to enter. Their eyes are already locked as Spock halts in front of the desk, and Kirk rises immediately to meet him. As he approaches Spock relaxes his stance, bare hands coming forward from where they had been clasped behind his back, stretching out to meet the ones that Kirk extends.

 

Their fingers slide together and that same electric rush sizzles through Kirk’s veins, sending shivers dancing up and down his spine.

 

“How did this happen?” he asks quietly. One hand lifts so that he can ghost his fingertips over Spock’s lips, even as his other tangles their fingers more tightly together. “When did you start to mean this much to me?”

 

“Does it signify?” Spock asks. His breath is hot against Kirk’s fingers, and the arousal that had sparked when their hands met bursts into sudden flame.

 

“No,” Kirk breathes. He draws his eyes up from Spock’s mouth, locking their gazes once more. “I will kill for you.” It’s difficult to form the words when all he wants is to fuse their bodies together, but it’s important that Spock knows this. “Not for my own sake, or for the sake of our bond. For _you_. Anyone who tries to take you from me again, by any means—I will lay them to _waste_.”

 

“As I will for you.” Spock’s voice is low and rough, and the force of his passion and desire are an all-consuming blaze. “ _Taluhk nash-veh k’dular, t’hy’la._ T’nash _-veh-tu_.”

 

And Kirk might not understand the words, but the bright possessive flare of Spock’s thoughts is more than clear enough. He can’t hold back any longer in the face of it, and with a snarling, possessive groan of his own he slips his hand around to the back of Spock’s neck and pulls him forward into a hard, bruising kiss.

 

Spock releases Kirk’s fingers as he bites at full, eager lips, and reaches up to cup his face with both hands. The heat of him is fierce, and as the thought of Spock’s handprints branded onto his skin hits Kirk full-force they both moan as one. Kirk’s free hand is busy working at Spock’s belt as he backs them towards the bed; Spock growls into the kiss but seems unwilling to lift his hands from Kirk’s skin, leaving his bondmate to disrobe them both as best he can.

 

Kirk twists, taking Spock by surprise, and sends him sprawling down on top of the bed. He takes the opportunity to shed his shirts, encouraged when Spock does the same without bothering to stand. Naked, Kirk is about to rejoin his bondmate when something catches his eye, and he bends to pick up the soft purple sash that circles Spock’s waist over his uniform every day without fail.

 

“I’ve never thought to ask,” Kirk muses, running the fabric through his fingers.

 

“It is traditional,” Spock rasps out, his eyes burning as he watches Kirk toy with the sash, “for Vulcans to wear their clan’s color as a means of identification.”

 

“I see. _My_ clan, now.” Kirk lifts an eyebrow. “Maybe I should wear one, too.”

He’s not entirely sure if the idea is his or Spock’s, the image of his wrists bound with the sash he holds as Spock slowly draws him in with a second one tied around his throat. It hardly matters; Spock is already yanking at the fabric in Kirk’s grip at the present moment, pulling him off-balance so that he topples forward onto the bed. And Kirk is more than willing to allow it; he crawls eagerly over Spock to lick and bite at his mouth again, savoring the thrill that buzzes through him when Spock rolls them effortlessly over. The Vulcan’s body is heavy and hot on top of him and Kirk revels in the feeling of being trapped, helpless and entirely safe.

 

Spock’s hands on him feel incredible, hot and strong and bruising just where Kirk wants it most. It makes Kirk wonder how he’s survived all these months without them, without the teasing friction of Spock’s fingertips and the sharp bite of his nails, without the _heat_ of them claiming every part of Kirk’s body that they can reach. Spock’s mouth abandons his, moving down to bite and mouth at Kirk’s skin as though Spock might literally devour him. Their bond is wide open and it’s almost too much, touching and being touched, taking and surrendering all at once.

 

Then Spock reaches up and over, into the drawer next to the bed for the bottle that Kirk keeps there, and when his slick fingers dip down to stroke and tease over Kirk’s entrance it _is_ too much. Kirk can feel Spock’s every needy shudder as if it were his own; when one long, slim finger slips inside Kirk hears himself keen with pleasure and need. He could easily get off like this, he knows, just like this, with nothing more than Spock’s finger in his ass and his teeth clamped tight around Kirk’s shoulder. But it’s not enough, and Kirk’s not too proud to beg for more. Not here, not with Spock; his husband, his bondmate.

 

“Hurry,” he groans, gripping Spock’s shoulders tightly and rocking his hips forward even as a second finger pushes inside of him. “I want . . . Spock, _please_ . . .”

 

He’ll pay for this later; he knows that. Much later, when they’re both sated enough for Spock to take his time, Kirk suspects that his bondmate will be making up for several long months of keeping his hands to himself. But for now Spock is every bit as desperate as he is, and all too willing to replace his fingers with his cock, Kirk’s legs hitched up high around his waist as he begins to push inside with slow, deep thrusts. Need and something deeper, something _more_ , floods Kirk’s body and has him reaching up to frame Spock’s face in both hands.

 

“I love you,” he says fiercely, willing the full truth of it across their bond and feeling it echoed back to him. “I’m yours.”

 

“Mine,” Spock growls, leaning down until their foreheads are pressed together and he’s reduced to short, shallow thrusts. “Of every being in this galaxy or any other I would have chosen you, even when I wished you dead. I am yours, _ashayam_. _Ek’wak eh kwon-sum_.”

 

“Prove it.”

 

Kirk leans up for a kiss, and Spock’s hand is at his face almost before their lips meet. The meld is deeper than any they’ve shared before, so deep that for a long, undefined and exhilarating stretch of time Kirk actually forgets that he is a separate person, that there is a _Kirk_ and a _Spock_ instead of an _I/we/us_. He’s dimly aware that Spock’s body is moving over and against and inside of his with more force; the physical pleasure that ripples through him is background static to the fusion taking place within their minds, pleasant but ultimately unimportant.

 

Kirk knows, on some deep, instinctive level, that they have reached a point of no return. There will be no breaking the bond between them now by anything short of death, and even that may not prove equal to the task. A part of him whispers that he will never again be or belong solely to himself, that there _is_ no more James T. Kirk entire unto himself.

 

At a distance he hears himself laughing, because this bond is beyond anyone’s power, stronger than any force the Terran Empire or any other might muster. He and Spock together are more powerful in this moment than the Emperor himself with a thousand armies at his back.

 

And so he lets himself settle, and lets himself fall.

 

Even shattered, nothing is out of their reach now.

  
  
  
 


End file.
